


Immaculate

by mudkipwrites



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angelic Lore, Awkward Conversations, Biblical Reinterpretation, Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Gen, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:41:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21966583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudkipwrites/pseuds/mudkipwrites
Summary: The Archangel Gabriel shows up in Nazareth with a message for a certain woman that a certain child shall be born. He wasn't trained for this. ((Based on the prompt from @Blue_Sparkle: "Where is our pregnancy-test-on-legs Gabriel content?"))
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47





	Immaculate

>>>

The desert heat is curling Gabriel’s hair. He _hates_ that. _At least in Heaven,_ he thinks, _they have the decency to provide straight-irons._

This is not his _typical_ assignment. Although Gabriel is well-enough acquainted by now with earthly visits, he _prefers_ to keep a clean distance from _mortals._ Human beings, in his humble opinion, have a way of making conflicts so much more... _dirty_ than necessary. It’s as if they find everything lovely, and purposefully burn it down into ashes. _(See: the need for this particular visit)._

But this is not being _fair._ Gabriel’s job among mortals is not _always_ unpleasant! There was that one time when he was tasked with setting a set a bush ablaze with eternal fire. _(Awkward business, that: too much plagues and bloodshed involved)._ There was another time when he was sent in his celestial form to deliver, by hand, a set of stone tablets to one of their leaders. _(The humans had botched that one up as well; melted down gold and worshiped some calves.)._ His _favorite,_ of course, was that particular time when he’d been sent in with that flaming, flying chariot. Now _that_ had been just right! 

But now... _this?_ This time, he’s being sent to some dirt-floor shack. This time, it is to present some message to some pubescent teenager. This time, he won’t be standing in celestial light before an audience of time-honored prophets. He will be kneeling, in the _dust,_ and asking some unnamed, _unwed_ girl to consent to a miracle.

>>>

_“ARCHANGEL GABRIEL,”_ God had declared. “ _I HAVE A MOST SPECTACULAR MISSION FOR YOU.”_

“Yes, Lord!” Gabriel had replied. His chest had swelled up with delighted pride _Another important mission, direct from the Most High!_

_“YOU MUST GO TO THE TOWN OF NAZARETH, IN THE REGION OF THE GALILEE, AND THERE YOU MUST DELIVER A MESSAGE.”_

“Got it.” Gabriel said. “To which prophet?” 

_“NOT TO A PROPHET,”_ They had said. _“BUT TO A YOUNG, UNMARRIED WOMAN. HER NAME IS MARY._

Gabriel had deflated. _What? Who, now?!_ Nonetheless, he had replied obediently: “Certainly, Lord! And of what kind of message is this? 

He’d hoped that it would be one of those fire-and-brimstone messages. 

_(It wasn’t)._

_“YOU SHALL CONVEY THIS:_

_MARY OF NAZARETH; IF YOU SHALL HAVE ME’ I AM IN NEED OF YOUR ASSISTANCE. I DESIRE A CHILD--MY OWN SON, BORN INTO ONE, HUMAN FLESH._

Gabriel stared.

_“I DESIRE FOR THIS CHILD TO BE NAMED JESUS. AND I SHALL MAKE OF HIM THE SAVIOR OF NATIONS.”_

_What, again?!_

Although it was not proper etiquette, Gabriel had been unable to resist speaking:

“Incarnation, _again?_ Lord--begging my pardon--but I didn’t _think_ that it went well last time.” 

They observed him, all brilliance and amusement. 

“Don’t you remember Krishna?!” Gabriel blurts. _No, don’t!_ A little voice hisses inside of his head. _Are you insane?! You can’t question the divine if they remember things. They are omnipotent!_

He’d begun to sweat. 

_“DO YOU DOUBT, ME GABRIEL?”_

“N-never, Lord!” Gabriel said. “But, it never goes well! When you send your body down into creation, to _people…_ ” he trails off. “Do you have some sort of... _plan?”_

Rather than respond, God had given a musical laugh. 

“ _IF I TRIED TO EXPLAIN IT TO YOU, ARCHANGEL GABRIEL, YOU’D NEVER UNDERSTAND.”_

He’d cringed, abashed. Yet, then, _another_ thought had occurred to him. 

“Lord…” He had asked. “You said: _unmarried.”_

_“YES.”_

“A young, unmarried teenager? You want me to…” he searches for words. “Put something like _this_ in the hands of _one of them?”_

_“YES.”_

Gabriel frowns. _What Aziraphale sees in human beings, he will never understand. Surely, this will be a mistake. But--_

“...Yes, LORD.” Gabriel had replied obediently, bowing his head. However, yet _another_ question had occurred to him, and he’d jolted upright:

“But! A-am _I_ the one who is supposed to-- _to_ \--!” 

He cannot finish the sentence.

_Is--is--he being called to act upon the directions of angels of old?! To sully his corporeal form with--with--intercoital matters?!”_ Gabriel thought that he might get sick. 

_“NO.”_ They had said firmly. _“IF SHE AGREES, I SHALL TAKE CARE OF IT MYSELF.”_

He’d swallowed down the lump in his throat gratefully. 

_“IF SHE CONSENTS, I SHALL SEND TO HER MY HOLY SEED. THAT SEED SHALL BLOOM, AND SHE SHALL DELIVER THE CHILD WHO DELIVERS NATIONS.”_

_What kind of mortal would willingly agree to bear a child that is not theirs?_ Gabriel thinks. _Let alone, a child of divine nature??_ However: far be it from Gabriel to denounce Their work as madness. After all: the improbable, the immaterial, is often the way of Them. 

“...Yes. My LORD.” Gabriel had finally answered. “Yes, of course. I’ll do it.”

“ _THEN, GO.”_ They’d declared in a rush of bright wind. _“DO WHAT I HAVE COMMANDED.”_

The Archangel Gabriel departed with much trepidation.

>>>

_It’s not much, this place,_ Gabriel thinks. 

He toes at the rushes outside of the humble, thatched-roof shack, and wrinkles his nose at the filth on his shoes. _If Mary is anything like her place...then I guess I really DON’T understand God’s ways._

The Nazarene home has been constructed of the typical baked dirt and clay. The door doesn’t fully keep out the sand or hot wind. Behind the stooped structure, he can hear the soft sounds of a public well and latrine. They are not far from the sea of the Galilee here, and water resources are more plentiful than other parts of the desert; however, that fact has not seemed to spare Mary from a life of poverty. 

For a moment, Gabriel feels sympathetic. 

“Good evening!” He calls. “Is anyone home?” He raps his knuckles against the thin, hard line of the door. “I’m calling on a _Mary_?”

When nobody responds, Gabriel sighs. He’d rather _not_ manifest himself through the doorway; the resulting glow of it was frequently off-putting to mortals. But he’ll do it, if the deed is necessary. 

He knocks again, this time with the flat palm of his outstretched hand. 

“Is this the home of Mary?” he asks. “A teenager? Jewish? Engaged to some Joseph?” 

There is a shuffling noise from inside. 

“Look,” he says with impatience. “I _know_ that this is the right place. My sources cannot lie. Just--open the door? And I swear that there won’t be any trouble.”

He’s not ready for it. Maybe, it’s because he had been making his own threats; or, maybe, it’s because he’d expected her to be _meek_. Either way, when the door abruptly swings open, it’s followed directly by two furious, swinging hands.

_“Stay back!_ ” a female voice snarls. “Or you’ll get what’s coming to you!” 

A figure, clad in hooded robe and shawl, is brandishing a red-hot meat ladle at him.

Gabriel leaps out of the way, blessing. He takes refuge behind what appears to be a rain barrel and covers his head. 

“As you say,” the voice continues: “I’ve already been arranged to the family of _Joseph!_ So. If you _try_ anything--through the haze, he sees her swing the heated metal at him--“If you so much as _try_ to touch me with those hands; you’ll _never_ see either one of them _again!”_

Cautiously, Gabriel rises up and out from his hideout. He is alarmed, yet vaguely impressed by her courage. _If I wanted to,_ he thought, _I could just smite her. Get this over with._

“Mary?” He asks, folding his hands in front of himself. Best not look threatening. “Are you Mary of Nazareth?” 

She draws back her hood. Behind the cloth, a _very_ young woman gazes back at him. There is no hint of fear. She has ebony skin, and wide, charcoal eyes with thick, dark eyelashes. Her hair forms a large, curling cloud around her head, and the sun-spots that scatter her cheekbones suggest a life made hard by outdoor labor. 

“This is the region of Nazareth.” the woman acknowledges. 

Gabriel _tsks._ It’s going to be like _that,_ is it? 

“And you are Mary?” 

She is looking Gabriel up and down now, too. She takes in his long, foot-length cloak and crooked walking staff, his face still shadowed by his garment. 

“...I am called Mary.”

Gabriel smiles.

“But who’s asking?”

He does his best to not let that smile falter. With effort, he plasters on his most charming sales-voice. 

“The name’s _Gabriel._ ” he says grandly. When it does nothing for her, he also pulls down his own hood. “And I come bearing an... _important message_.”

Usually, this combination of actions and words garners favorable results. In the corporeal form Gabriel has chosen, his tall form and striking, authoritative, and chiseled to sway the most mortal onlookers. Mary, however, appears unimpressed. 

“Gabriel, huh?” 

_Heavens, help him._

“Yes. I’m a messenger. Might I come inside?” 

Skeptically, she shifts one hand to her hip. 

“What kind of message?” 

“A good one.” 

“A good one for _me?”_ The loose, tattered remains of her prayer-shawl flutters in the breeze. “Unlikely.” 

Gabriel huffs through his nose. _Humans! Can’t she just make this quick and simple?!_ He does his best not to grit his teeth, keep the smile on his face. 

“Mary.” He begins again. “Yes. Hear me out: I do not know you, and you do not know me. _However._ You _do_ know The One who has sent me.” 

Her mouth tilts in annoyance. 

“The _One_ . Who Has _Sent Me_?” 

Gabriel emphasizes his words carefully, and yet, she remains unimpressed. 

“The LORD? YHVH? The Most High God?” 

_This_ seems to finally catch her attention.

She blinks, incredulous. Gabriel watches the shifting emotions flood her face: _Excitement. Anger. Concern. Confusion._ Clearly, the Lord is important to Mary, or she wouldn’t take the time to consider it. 

“A messenger from _YHVH_ ?” She says doubtfully. Nevertheless, in the way she speaks the name--reverently--Gabriel thinks that there might be a chance. “I don’t... _understand._ I don’t know _what to say.”_

To Gabriel’s relief, she seems to be slightly relaxing now. From where he is standing, he can see a thin, ashy trail of smoke coming away from the meat ladle’s tip.

“Why don’t you invite me in,” Gabriel suggests, going for charming. “And then, I’ll tell you everything there is to know about it?”

Mary is indecisive. Her foot kicks in the dust. One one hand, she _strongly_ dislikes Gabriel. On the other, she seems curious in what he has to say. As she stands, she has one hand in the doorway, and one on the outside--as her choices are between ushering Gabriel in, or, ( _equally likely_ ), beating him down with her handmade weapon. 

“...You better come in, then.” She finally says. 

“ _Excellent!”_ Gabriel says, striding towards the door with relief. “Thank you, Mary!” 

>>>

It’s not much of a home. _Hovel,_ he corrects himself. Mary lives in the customary fashion of humans for her day and age: a one-room, modest, earthen living space, composed of a hearth on one side and bedrolls on the other. It appears that Mary has been doing the cooking this afternoon while her folks are away-- _(Good! That will this much easier!)--_ and the remains of boiled fish and bread are on a central slab of stone. 

“May I offer you tea?” Mary asks. 

Her words are polite, and offer the expected local hospitality, but there is a _distinct_ coldness to them. Her distrust is evident. 

“Er. Please!” Gabriel says.

Mary goes about the usual actions of hospitality with deft skillfulness: stokes the hearth, gathers fresh oil for cakes of bread, settles a blanket upon the floor where they might sit. Joseph’s family must be a favorable one: there is a shelf standing proudly in the room’s center, displaying a variety of his prenuptial gifts. Gabriel knows that among the spices and perfumes, there is a contractual deed which outlines their future families’ economic arrangements. 

He wonders if Joseph will still want to honor that, after all _this._

_“_ Sit down.” Mary commands. 

Gabriel sits. 

After sweeping his gaze over the her meager belongings, Gabriel’s eyes come to rest upon the woman herself. Mary is... _young._ Hardly more than a girl! She must have just recently begun her first menstrual cycle--which, oddly enough, is _what made her a candidate for marital union in the first place._ Gabriel shudders. _Human relational customs!_

Mary quietly steeps them a hot, herbal mixture, and Gabriel picks at a hole in the yarn of the rug. He has many doubts. _She’s too young!_ He thinks. _Far too young for this._ As Mary joins him on the floor, crossing her legs beneath her wool robe, he thinks: _she simply cannot be qualified for something like this._

Mary pours the tea, not making eye-contact. 

Gabriel clears his throat. _May as well get this over with!_

“Mary,” he politely begins. 

Mary raises her eyes to meet him. In them--among her _many_ emotions--Gabriel can see a strong distaste for him. 

“Me.” she responds. 

_Right._

“Mary--resident of Nazareth--offspring of Joachim and Anne--daughter of the nation Israel--child of the Most High God--”

“Oh, do get on with it!” Mary interrupts. 

Gabriel splutters to a halt. _Oh!_ He thinks, flustered. He’s not _used_ to being _interrupted._ The _nerve!_

“As I said,” he tries again. “Mary...” 

She stares at him, and he hesitates. _Shouldn’t she be more afraid? Respectful? He’s an archangel, for Heaven’s sake!_

“Well, Mary! It’s like this” 

Mary glares at him impatiently. 

He finds himself tugging at the neck of his robe. _Is it hot in here? Best to get on with it--_

“Er... _Congratulations_ !” Gabriel finds himself shouting. “Mary: you’re _pregnant!”_

The silence is _awful._

As she glares back at him, Mary’s eyes look as though she could have thrown daggers. 

“ _Excuse_ me?” She hisses. 

_Whoops. Not going well!_ Gabriel quickly back-tracks.

“Er!” He blusters. “What I _meant_ to say is that--you _could_ be! _Could be_ pregnant!” 

_This is_ not _getting better._ She balls her fists. 

“ _Could_ be?!” Mary says shrilly. “ _Could be pregnant?!_ How _dare_ you walk into _my home,_ and _imply_ that kind of _dishonorable--_!” 

Gabriel knows that for humans, at this time and place, it is exceptionally shameful to give birth out of wedlock. _Crepes._ He should have got about this differently--

“Okay!” Gabriel stammers, holding up his hands. “ _Okay,_ okay, listen! My boss--you know, _God?_ \--God sent me here with a request. A _personal_ request.”

Mary looks ready to strangle him. 

“God needs your help! God _wants your help!!”_

Mary lowers her hands. She stares at him, all hostility and confusion. 

“...What?” 

“God wants you pregnant.” 

Mary look like she might strangle him all over again. 

“Um--ah!! That is!--God wants to _ask_ you. _Requests_ of you! If you’d be _willing_ to _be_ pregnant!” 

Mary lifts her dark eyebrows.

_“For_ God! For the _world!_ With-- _God’s_ baby!”

There is a long, ringing silence. 

Mary does not leap across the setting towards him; she does not scream, does not glare, does not attempt to strangle him. She simply, slowly, brings the cup of hot tea to her lips. Then, she says quietly: 

_“Tell me.”_

“Perhaps I should explain.” Gabriel says weakly. He drops his hands into his lap, folds his fingers together. _You’ve got a chance! Don’t mess this up!_ “God desires to...send to you...a... _Son._ _The_ Son, to be exact. God incarnate. The Savior.”

She watches him. She brings the cup once again to her lips, blowing off steam.

Gabriel is not sure if the message is getting across, or if she is just considering something less distasteful than him. After a while, he adds, just to be clear: “You know...the _Messiah_? The one your prophet Isaiah is always going on about?” 

She another long, thoughtful drink. 

Gabriel squints hard at her face, as he could read her. _What is the human thinking?_

“Right. So...yeah. Like I said: Savior of Nations. His name is supposed to be Jesus, and he’s supposed to be born for the sake of--”

“Who is asking me this?” 

Gabriel is startled. When Mary speaks, she looks fierce, determined. _Not what he’d expected..._

“I’m sorry?” 

“Who asks this of me?” Mary sets her cup down on the earth. She is looking at the archangel with blazing intensity. As her small hands clench the fabric gathered on the knees of her robe, Gabriel thinks that she looks a bit... _celestial._

“God.” he replies. “I’m just the messenger.” 

Mary looks down at the stone with the unleavened bread. 

“So I’m supposed to believe,” she says calmly, “That you are some sort of... _angelic messenger_ of the most high? That you’re here to...deliver the _sacred word,_ as a _child,_ who will heal my people?”

“Yes.”

“The messiah? Our deliverance?” 

“I guess so. Yes.” 

“And I’m supposed to just believe you,” she says. “To believe that you’re not some sort of _criminal_ from foreign lands, here to _destroy_ my family’s reputation?” 

“Your _wha_ t?” 

_It had been going so well!_

Gabriel feels confused. _I_ _n all of his days, he’s never dealt with a more stubborn human._

“Look, lady.” He says, growing short on patience.

“I’m the Archangel _fucking_ Gabriel.” 

He rises up, off of the mat on the floor. _Play time’s over._ “And I’m here on a _mission._ I _never_ fail missions. God has sent me to ask for your help in.... _gestating_ Jesus. And I’m here to get your _yes_ or _no_ answer.” 

Usually, drawing himself up to his full height has a rather intimidating affect. However, if anything, Mary looks even more confident. 

“I don't care _who_ you are."

" _Fine."_

God wants my _answer_?” 

“ _Yes_!"

The look on Mary’s face is unreadable. 

"If you agree, then God will send Their Holy Spirit to impregnate your womb. With Their Spirit, _apparently_. And, if all goes as planned: you’ll give birth to a child, in about nine-month’s time.” 

If it was not for the slight tremble of her hands, Gabriel would not even know that she was even distressed. _He may have underestimated..._

“And if I do not?” 

Gabriel stares. “What?” 

“If I do not agree.” Mary says. “If I do _not_ consent.”

Gabriel sighs. In this moment, he’d very _much_ like to lie. He’d like to tell her that God is wrathful, and will burn her in an eternal fire. He’d like to tell her that she _must_ obey, or God will not love her anymore. He’d like to tell her that there is punishment if she does not follow orders, and that only obedient children are the ones who get grace. 

He’d be _lying._

“If you do not,” Gabriel replies, resigned. “Then I shall return to the Lord with your message.” 

“And that’ll be the end of it?”

“Yep.” 

Gabriel pinches the bridge of his nose and silently fumes. He’d _like_ to unfurl his wings. He’d _like_ to open all his eyes, and drop firey stones just for the effect. He _knows_ that intimidation and danger works _much_ better at garnering obedience..and no matter what _Principality Aziraphale_ said, gentleness is _not_ effective in dealing with humans. 

Gritting his teeth, the messenger sighs.

“Well then.” He says tersely. “I best be off, then.” 

And yet, as he walks towards the door, the sound of her cough snatches his attention. “Archangel Gabriel?” 

“ _Yes?”_

Biting his tongue, Gabriel throws a look over his shoulder.

_The sooner he can get out of here, the better!_

“Tell God I have a message.” 

He clenches and unclenches his fists.

He is _really_ not in the mood to entertain the ideas of humans right now.

This whole thing has been one great _failure,_ and he doesn’t look forward to talking with Michael about it. 

“And what’s that?” 

“I accept.” 

Gabriel stiffens. 

“That’s right, Archangel Gabriel: You tell YHVH that I, ever the Lord’s faithful servant, would be honored to take Their request.” 

The celestial messenger wheels around to gaze at Mary. Her posture is proud and tall--even with her short stature. Her eyes glow with confidence and determination--not at all hinting of her age, or her social status. From the slant of her shoulders, the jut of her chin, Mary could have been a soldier.

“Let me be clear. I’m not doing this for _you._ Or for _anyone else_ .” She stands, human-to-angel, eye-to-eye with Gabriel. “I am doing this because I _love_ Them, and my people. God has promised that we will be delivered, and if this is deliverance, then I will follow.”

Gabriel is not sure what to make of this statement. It was not at _all_ what he was expecting. 

“You’re... _sure_ about this?”

Mary does not so much as flinch.

“I have seen my people suffer injustice upon injustice.” She says, voice ringing. “I was born into violence and oppression. My people have been enslaved, slaughtered, and cast out from our homeland.”

Gabriel resists the urge to take a step backward.

“My people have been stripped of our livelihood, possessions, loved ones and friends. Ruthless empires, far more powerful and bloodthirsty than ours, have taken from us time and time again.” 

Although she has neither wings nor a halo, Mary of Nazareth radiates _power_. 

“And if this ‘Jesus’ might be-- _could be_ \--the one to deliver my people?” She is shaking. “I will do anything-- _anything--_ to bring about our God’s promised _justice._ ”

_Perhaps I_ have _underestimated her._ Gabriel thinks. _Perhaps, human beings--_

“God _will_ deliver us.” 

She does not stutter. Although she is young, Gabriel senses the presence of someone much older, much _wiser_ , then he first anticipated. _How did I not see this?_ He wonders. _If she means what she says..._ he shakes his head in wonder. 

“Well, okay.” He says. “Okay, then.” 

He resists to swing his arms back-and-forth awkwardly. 

She nods. 

"Okay." 

Mary remains standing before him. Gabriel shifts his feet, uncertain what else to say. _Are humans_ _worth more than I give them credit for?_ Shaking his head at the thought, he turns to duck out of the house. But Mary calls after him--

“Wait a minute. Gabriel?” 

He turns, looking over his shoulder. "Yes?"

“This baby.” she asks. “What...how will..." She frowns. "Will it also be Joseph’s?” 

Gabriel looks around nervously. _HE_ _isn't qualified for this!_

“Erm...Uh...Why don’t you go talk to your cousin, _Elizabeth_?” He suggests. “She might have some kind of... _womanly_ _advice_ for you about _all of this!”_ He makes a vague gesture to her lower-half and belly. 

A very near smile quarks Mary's lips. “Are you kidding me?” Mary she says, incredulous. “You’re a messenger of God--an _archangel--_ And you can’t even _say_ a word like _‘sex’?”_

Gabriel panics. _Time to go!_ He thinks.

In a rush of light and embarrassment, he unfurls his wings and launches himself into the sky.

“Be seeing you!" he yelps backwards over his shoulder. “

And remember: you are blessed! You have God’s favor! _High_ favor!” 

Mary is actually _laughing._

He's horrified.

“If I have God’s favor,” she calls after him, "Then don’t ever let God send you _back_!” 

>>>

Gabriel does _not_ make any more house-calls. 

>>>

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this re-imagining of the annunciation story! Drop a comment or leave a kudo if you liked it. Thanks!


End file.
